Don't Care Was Made To Care?

People don't like it when you say you don't care, it's like we have to care, we've been conditioned to. It's, almost, our duty. World wide news, the international psycho drama, the environment, the state of the economy, the middle east, we are taught that we must care. Well, I'm telling you, I don't care about any of it. If an atomic bomb was dropped on Gaza, it wouldn't change my life. Why don't the Arabs and the Jews just fight to the death? They seem to want to. If Kim Jong Il really gave that idiot Bush what he deserved, again, it wouldn't change my life. In fact, with the rich getting ridiculously rich and the west becoming more and more excessive, while the poor are dying every day, from such things as dirty drinking water, with the inequalities in the world increasing, maybe a nice big catastrophe is what the world really needs, to shock it back into normalcy. You know, like electroshock treatment, re-scramble the thinking back to normal. Like chemotherapy, every thing re-sets... the end justifies the means. Maybe we could lose Jerusalem, or Washington, boom, gone. Maybe that would make the population sit up and say, No more, no more of this madness, let's start treating all of the people of the world equitably.

Maybe?

 

To Hell In a Rat-Faced Bitch's Hand-Basket

You know the world is truly going to hell, when (and they all seem to be female, maybe because they are told that the clitoris gives them the opportunity to have it all... and it's just not true) car drivers think it is perfectly acceptable to run pedestrian's down if the pedestrian crosses the road on the red man – more often than not, these idiot drivers are driving through red lights themselves.

I saw it happen on the corner of Elizabeth and Bourke a week, or so ago, when an idiot woman accelerated straight at group of pedestrians in her Rodeo, not making any allowances for the pedestrians if they'd kept walking. If they had, she would have run them down, it would have been as simple as that.

Then this morning, a woman in a gunmetal grey Toyota Yaris tried to run me down on Victoria Parade. You can’t actually make it right across Victoria Parade on the green man, it has always changed to red when you are on the second side. I dashed across this morning and this idiot woman just kept coming, until I was in front of her car with both my hands on her bonnet yelling at her that she had to give way to pedestrians.

Get out of my way, she said, as she tried to accelerate over me. I had to leap out of the way.

I saw that she had stopped at Brunswick Street and decided that she wasn't going to get away with that.

I ran and caught up to her, as she waited at Brunswick Street lights and it was worth it just to see her jump and nearly shit herself, as I banged on her diver’s window, as hard as I could.

(To her credit, she wound down the window)

Do you think your behaviour was acceptable back there? I yelled. Do you think it is acceptable to run someone down?

Yes, she said, because you ran across on the red man. Because I was in the right and you were in the wrong.

(Yes, she said. It was okay for her to run a pedestrian down)

You don’t even know your road rules, I yelled. Cars have to give way to pedestrians.

I know my road rules…

You are what is wrong with the world, I yelled. The world is going to hell quicker than I ever gave it credit for, because of people like you!

I walked around in front of her car, the lights had turned green and she accelerated again and I had to jump from out of her way again?

What the hell is wrong with you, I yelled after her.

The World is Full of Users

Josh, who is staying with me as a guest, remember, called from Valarie's place to ask if she could come around to use my Internet. She lives close by, just around the corner. It would be so convenient for her, rather than having to go to an Internet cafe.

Oh, I could see it so clearly, how many times in the week do you think she'd be around just to check her emails?

Valerie Who? What does she mean to me, quite frankly.

Sure, I said. Why don’t you invite the whole neighbourhood around to use it, while you are at it?

I wasn't to know she was listening in on the call, on the other end, with Josh. She thought I sounded mean and now she feels too scared to come around.

What a princess! And I’m the bad guy? Go figure?

But? Er? Job done.

Monday Morning

It's the beginning of the week. Or is it the middle? I'm not so sure now that I've worked right through the weekend.

That disgusting little man, John Howard, is way down in the polls, as is his vile (pseudo-christian) party. (Get your rosaries off our ovaries, euthanasia, abortion and gay rights, you snivelling, conservative cunts)

Stop using the environment as a political tool and take the problem seriously. We don't want nuclear power, it's not a good fiscal opportunity to expand Australia's uranium industry. You still don't get it do you little Johnny, it's not about money, it's about survival, it's about the planet.

Little (seventy year old +) Johnny out of favour? It is going to be a good week, after all?

 

From Tom

Hey Chris.

i called you on the weekend, didn't want to leave a massage, i wanted to talk with you.

Anyway, if you're interested, i am really sorry about projecting my crap onto you.

It was also crap the wanting you to be the old you thing. It's not you, it's me.

I'm just so angry with EVERYTHING but mostly with all the time being sick has cost me, and you got the brunt of it.

When I said "You don't love me enough" etc etc wah wah wah pick pick pick, what I really meant was, "I'm drowning in a million feelings and I need help".

I'm so sorry I wasn't clear and I just hope I haven't lost you because you really are my oldest friend and you really do know me best.

I don't want to give you my crap, I want to be honest and honestly, I'm struggling.

I don't expect you to do anything with this email Chris, but I hope that one day I can come over and laugh with you and feel at home with you again.

Please don't give up on me Chris. I know you have your own shit to deal with, but please don't be a stranger for too long? That would be nice for me.

I love you Chris, for who you are now. Really I do.

Anyway, if you got this far, thanks.

xxxx T

19 years later, reading this back is really difficult, it just makes me feel like a prize cunt. Tom, I am so sorry. I miss you.

Country Morning

Sun light dappled on leaves, flower heads catching the breeze, peeking out from in between. A bird call trails off into the light that is gently landing amongst the trees.

Gums serene, water laps at their feet. Morning hues, brittle and green, washing the night away. I feel the air on my skin, as the sleep falls from my eyes and the day begins.

A lizard makes a dash across the dirt, as my toes curl on the cool, cool earth.

The night’s fallen away, the day’s resumed.

Anna-Nicole

Good Bye

Good bye Anna Nicole. How sad. An extraordinary'ish life, by all accounts, cut short. I don't know why I was so fascinated with her? I guess it was the life lived less ordinary. From the dizzy heights to the heart breaking lows, you brought colour to an increasingly homogenised world. A world where people are too scared to stand out and be something other than the norm, for good, or for bad, you did.

Kiss Me

I'm tired of being admired

Random Thoughts On The Day

Toddler climbs into a car and dies? Isn't that just natural selection, 21st Century style? You know, getting rid of the dumb ones. The world will probably be a better place, without them. They'll only grow up to feed the stupidity tax of gambling, no doubt. Mindless Pokies. Or deal drugs to your kids. Or kill you in an accident driving blind.

Can someone explain to me why Della-Riva has been caught up in a scandal, let alone lost his job? This woman concerned was 18 years old, an adult. He didn't attack her, he didn't assault her, he didn't do anything illegal? What's the big deal? So he hit on some chick? He had a go, she said no and, I'm assuming, that was the end of it. What is the big deal? That's called life, grow up, you are an adult now. A man doesn't deserve to lose his job for that.

Susan Sarandon

I think she is so beautiful... and she is 60 years old. (and, allegedly, no plastic surgery) Just gorgeous.

Something Amazing

Little Johnny Howard

panders to the rich

and screws the poor

(like he screws Janet)

and yet they all still vote for him.

Monday'itis

This is not the image 2007 Christian was posting, but, this is the image 2026 Christian feels when he reads the comments about Tom

Life's fucked and then you die. That's how I feel today, so, I guess, I shouldn't write any more.

My car has issues, as the good Peugeot mechanic said. I took it in for it to get the once over, thinking it would just confirm that there were few problems. However, the RACV report missed crucial items and now it's going to cost me to get many and varied problems fixed... just when my finances seem to be going out backwards.

It all started the second day I had it and the head light didn't work, which, actually, was one of the (few) things mentioned on the RACV report. A head light being a road worthy item on a car which had just, allegedly, passed a road worthy test.

But, Tom called me, when I was, shall we say, in Manny's arms, yesterday. Bad timing, huh? It's the first time in weeks. It feels odd for best friends. It's good that he called, but right now, I don't feel like I have the confrontational energy to contact him. But I should. Bad Christian!

I just hope he has got over himself. Look, there goes a flying pig.

G

My running buddy G. All those muscles, legs and thighs in those tiny little shorts, how does he fit into them, people have asked.

Nick begrudgingly sat for this photo, and then I played around with effects.

Me & G & the Park

So the elms are dying from the drought, I thought, as G and I jogged through the park. Majestic creatures, well, hardly creatures, but nearly; big and tall and strong and as permanent as time and space... but without water, as tiny as the smallest grain of sand.

The lawns are green, the aspect sweeping from, pretty much, any angle. Mum’s and dad’s had bought their children to play on the verdant velvet expanse. People read books in the shade. Some people sleep.

G states categorically that he doesn't need to have sex with a man to know he wouldn't like it.

Christian, if I was hot for guys, I reckon I would, why not? Who’s going to turn down sex? But, I'm just not.

It's just fear, I said. I was egging him on. You pussy

Give it to me any time, replied G.

The sky was a beautiful blue. The sun was warm on my back. I breathed hard in between my words.

Besides, what do you do with two boners? Don’t they, um… you know, get in the way?

What do you mean?

Well, with a chick it just all fits together, he said. You know, when I’m lying on top of Valentina…she’s smooth down there. I just kind of fit…

Like a glove, I offered.

Well, wouldn’t they be pushing against each other? Getting in the way? Keeping you a part?

No, that’s the best bit…

I can’t see it.

The shadows were dappled on the path. There was a group having wedding photos taken. I wondered about the normalcy of the appearance of the day. People gathering, as they had for a hundred years. It’s all perception, I thought.

Head over to those pushes in the middle of the park, I pointed to the beat and you’ll soon find out.

What?

Come on, I said, as I sprinted off in the direction of the MCG.

Are there guys having sex in those bushes? said G, as he caught up to me.

A-ha.

In the middle of the day?

Day, night and in between.

You guys...

You’re just jealous.

Do you?

I have, I said. But not for a long time now.

Why not, he smiled. You pussy?

Well, Manny, and other assorted boyfriends, I guess.

So if you headed over there now you'd get sucked off?

Probably.

So why don't you? G said, almost in amazement of turning down free sex. (That particular interpretation could have just been in my head, granted)

I've grown up. There are better ways of getting sex. There is better sex.

 

The Stars Are Bright

There is a solar system inside my granite bench top. in another century we'll be disappearing inside them and having an intergalactic adventure without ever leaving the kitchen. That is if we are still here, which at this point is highly doubtful. Ah, the human race, the cockroaches will clack to each other, they had such potential.

End of the Night

Been out drinking with friends. Pissed as! It's nice to have buddies to play pool with, drink beer and hang with. I'm lucky, I have good friends. Whenever I get down, I should just slap myself. I've been down the last few days. Or is it the beer? Nah! It's grand having flirty buddies. Smart friends. Clever, funny, witty pals. People to be with, just naturally.

Josh met someone he went to school with. They were twelve years olds together, apparently. He recognised Josh straight away. Josh didn't click for the longest time and then he was embarrassed.

In fact, we were a gaggle of ex-boyfriends... the four of us. He who shall never be mentioned, Craig (his ex) and... did I ever say that Josh is an ex-boyfriend of mine? Before Manny, I guess. He's cool. I like having him around.

Do we ever tell our buddies that we love them, enough?

Babyface sings, I'll Make Love to You and End of the Road. (He nearly sings it as well as his {great} Auntie Gladys... nearly)

Tom has taken himself off to Sydney, to escape, because everyone is cross with him. Apparently, all his gay boy friends are, and I quote, ‘A bunch of cunts and he's hanging with some lesbian friends,’ according to he-who-shall-never-be-mentioned.

Shane and Mark W have split up. Apparently, Shane has left Mark W for Matt. Who'd have thought? The last time I chatted to Shane, when he was drunk and inclined to say more than he would otherwise, he said that Matt is the first person who has made him feel the same way as his (gorgeous) boyfriend Fergus, who died a number of years back.

Ah, Mark W, tall, dark and handsome and if someone could just graft in a personality, he'd be great. Oh, I don't mean that, he's nice. Smart, considered, interesting. I'm just being a little bitch. I think, perhaps, I fancied him once, kind of in passing, and he didn’t fancy me and I’ve just been mean ever since. Oh, not really, but I think there was a sense of that somewhere along the way. That’s how it usually goes, now isn’t it.

I started smoking again. Idiot! (Babyface sings, Gone to Soon)

Rage Against the Machine

This week there was a doco on about the cold war. It's premise was that the cold war was largely invented by the conservative powers in the US government to stem the tide of liberalism on home soil. It was the beginning of using fear as a political weapon. The propaganda fabricated and disseminated was largely so the christian agenda was pushed, ultimately trying to prevent boys and girls in the US from touching each other. The whole cold war propaganda was fabricated to push a conservative, moral agenda back home.

It was fascinating and frightening.

And who do you think was leading the war on the commies, Donald Rumsfeld. There was a speech he made about Russian weapons of mass destruction in 1975 that if you substituted Iraq for Russia, it could have easily been given 30 years later. It was the exact same shit. And as in Iraq, much of the propaganda about Russia in the 1970's, was lies.

(anyone who doesn't think we are going to perish by our own hands, is kidding themselves)

Rich & Poor

The rich get richer

as a third of the planet starves.

A dollar is given in conscience.

21st Century Man

Mayan, Inca, Roman.

21st Century man

is blind to his fate.

Winter of Our Dreams

Politicians lie

as the planet dies.

We are in the winter of our dreams.

New Car

I've got to catch the train to Ringwood today to pick up the car. Wish me luck... on all counts.

10 1/2 hours later...

She flies! He flies! It flies! Goes well. Cool, huh? 18 trouble free kilometres, thus far. Got to love the French. I've had all the French brand name cars, I was thinking today, on the train to Ringwood - Renault (gold), Citroen (Green) and Peugeot x 2 (both white).

I was going to take it for a spin up the highway to show it to Mark and Luke, but they are at the movies, which might mean they are headed here. Hope so.

Manny had two tickets to Little Britain, which he called me about as I was heading out to the burbs to get the car. I don't think he was very impressed when I said I just couldn't go. Oh well. Dear Manny. 

Sex on Tap

I went jogging with G, or do I call him Big Boy? Perhaps, it can be Big Boy G. He's my Greek mate, we've been friends for years.

As we jogged down by the Yarra - the times, in between, I wasn't getting called piss-weak for walking - he was telling me about his new girlfriend, Valentina - lawyer, power suit brigade.

She can't keep her hands off it, mate, said G. I've never known a bitch like her. She's amazing. Two girls jogged towards us dressed in black body suits. They looked like power-dykes to me. I wondered if I was too ghettoised?

G started to smile.

What?

I shouldn't have been thinking about Valentina and shit, in jogging shorts.

What?

He slid his hands in front of his shorts.

I looked down.

He slid his hands away. Pretty good, huh?

Jesus, G! I looked away.

Valentina chokes on it.

Bigger hands than mouth, then, huh?

Way bigger!

I looked back at him. Put it away.

I don't care. She's addicted to the peen - as G calls it - maaatttee, taking off all the wog boys he's ever known. She can't keep her hands off it.

It's okay for you to take off the wogs, I said. But it's not okay for me?

He grabbed my head and staged a mock pulling of my face into his groin.

Well, I wouldn't say derogatory things about your lot, he said. But you can. It's the same thing.

Our feet went thud, thud on the grass, together.

That's all you guys ever think about, I said. Ya Peen!

G sort of snorted a laugh. And like you guys fucken don't?

I don't know, it always seems to be more of a mutual thing with guys, I said. You boys just have this self-obsessed desperation that just seems to be about you, because you get turned down so much.

Get fucked! said G. You are so full of shit!

So full of shit that it is getting you hot under the collar.

This is - he emphasised the 'is', as if to confirm rather than tell - why most straight guys hate you guys, you know, said G. Because you can get sex whenever you want and then you just can't help but brag about it.

He increased his speed. But you sure can't fucken run.

I caught up to him, determinedly, it nearly killed me, but I wasn't going to show it. Unfortunately, my voice went up an octave. Can too!

Get fucked fag boy, said G, laughing between his gasps.

Don't call me fag boy. Big breathe! You wog cunt! I said, breathing hard. Same principle applies.

Come on. G slapped me playfully on the arse, with a full hand. We hoofed it up the Punt Road hill, in sink.

I could still feel his hand on my arse.

G got married when he was thirty and divorced when he was thirty five. For months, he walked around saying, Hi I'm G and I'm divorced. Hi I'm G and I'm divorced. I don't want to say that, he'd almost whine.

You've got to snap out of this, buddy.

You know Christian, he'd say. It was the one thing I never - emphasis on never - wanted to have to say. It was always something that was going to happen to someone else.

May be?

Mate, I'm the only divorced member of my whole family. The only one!

Then he went into a decline for the rest of the year. He shut himself away, cut himself off, completely. My mate Silvia pulled him out of it, with some old fashioned loving. She said he was hot sex; could go twice, very confidently. Always made her cum. They are not together now, the split was mutual, but it seems to have bought him back to normal.

"Nick (G's real name. Don't ask me why I call him G) has the most perfect penis," enthused Silvia, one night when she'd had too many chardies. 

Bigger, Faster, Stronger

Steve, Gavin and Carla. R&B played. The three of them circled the two chairs, each keeping a corner of their eye on the other, with the other eye firmly fixed on the prize.

"Omenta! Omenta! We all fall down," whispered Carla.

They prowled like wild cats, ready to pounce.

The music stopped. Both boys instantly sprang sideways, with athletic precision and claimed a chair each. Carla was left standing, ready to make her move.

The smile disappeared from her face. "Oh, that's not fair," Carla whined. "You two are bigger and stronger... you've got an unfair advantage."

"You wanted to play, sis," said Gavin. He shrugged.

He turned his head sideways to a smiling Steven and kissed him firmly on the lips.

Long weekend

I didn't get home until just now. I thought I could smell something dead as soon as I walked in the front door. I've got a very sensitive sense of smell. But I decided that I was still being paranoid about the last massacre and the fact I have never found that particular carcass. I sometimes wonder if it is some where, just out of sight, going green. Missy was bleating from the back yard. She hadn't been fed since Friday.

I did arrange for someone to feed her, don't get me wrong, but it was only for Friday. But she said, don't worry if you can't get back, I'm just around the corner. When I called her to ask her to do cat duty on Saturday - she was house sitting for Tim and Nicholas just around the corner - she said, she had given Missy a whole can, on Friday, but had locked the key inside the house. Stupid people? You've got to wonder. How do they cope with the real difficult decisions in life?

You gave her a whole can of cat food? I thought. Fat girl will love you.

I felt bad, but what could I do. It wasn't like she'd starve.

She hasn't left my side, rubbing against my legs continuously. I don't think it is the food that she minds as much as the company.

I went to check my washing in the front room and found the source of the dead smell. A (may be) Pigeon tucked into the corner of one of the rooms, closest to the front door. I can assure you, I didn't want to look that closely.

Missy looked away - she even looked guilty - as if she hadn't notice and wandered away up the hallway... leaving me for the first time.

It would make a great short film, I thought, as I rolled the carcass into the plastic bag. Of course, we'd need smell-a-vision. I winced. Bad Boy Bubby'esque. I laughed. Hidden camera, to catch all the bird on cat action. Wild safari. Then the body lying there. Life is cheap, may be short. Finite. Night, day, night. Me cleaning it up. Missy in her Mrs Hyde outfit, dancing off. Time lapse photography. Life and death.

Well, maybe not a great short film. I'd had a joint by then, I could see it all.

Missy kept clear the whole time I was clearing up the carcass. She is, of course, now asleep on my foot.

Mark's just found out that his blood pressure is extremely high, after a spider bite he got on is foot. High blood pressure is a hereditary thing for him, his whole family has it. I told him he was my reason for living and he burst into tears. And he is my reason for living, my forever after; someone I have known for seventeen years, someone I will know forever.

I am Mark's rock. As corny as it sounds, we have unconditional love. We're soul mates.

I adore Luke and he adores me.

Life is good.

Manny called and bored me so badly, with his petty worries, I fobbed him off.

I smoked cigarettes all weekend, the function wasn't good. Bunch of piss pots. Jasus!

I didn't pick up my car, it wasn't good, either. It was actually about a clutch peddle problem, which I was slow in telling them about, to tell you the truth. They could fix it Monday, no problem.

I do hope they aren't the dodgy brothers? To tell you the truth, I have been so ineffectual during this whole car sale, my level of disinterest means they could have pulled anything over me. I just wanted to wiggle my nose and have a car. The rest of it is bullshit.

The RACV gave it the green light; suspected worn clutch, maybe some engine work. All termed regular service items, adjustment items, at this stage. This is an eight year old GTI, you have to expect a bit of wear, it's that kind of proposition. This one comes with a three year warranty, (it's not a factory warranty, it's a dodgy brother's used car salesmen warranty, but a warranty, none the less) and is still $4000 cheaper than the competing cars for sale.

And it was the only car with a sunroof, which is the actual reason I picked this particular car.

So, even if I have to spend $4000, touch wood that I don't - please universe no, you should see my finances - I'd still have a GTI with a sunroof... with a new clutch, or rebuilt engine, whatever (and may be the warranty on this car will actually pay some of/all of the cost... and maybe it's a con, who knows); none of the more expensive cars had warranties, may be one, they were all private sales and none were claiming any brand new parts, no recent rebuilds or new clutches, so I'm no worse off?

That's my reasoning, any way.

But what will the Peugeot specialist say, when I take it to him? Cross your fingers.

I can't quite believe I have to go to work tomorrow. Rachel will be shitty with me taking a morning off to pick up my car, Tuesday, after I have just had a week off. But, she'll be cool with it, in the end. I'll work back, if need be, no sweat. And quite frankly, and I mean this with love, who really cares if she's not.

I'm getting a new car!

 

How Many Times Have I Been in Love?

Cupid does not so much shoot a well aimed arrow, as fire a scatter gun.

How many times have I been in love?

Three, may be four.

Then there are those in between ones, I could very well have, but... May be two. (Manny would fit into this category, sad but true)

Perhaps there are still a few more flying my way? (Even though I have found my soul mate, in Mark) In love? It would be nice to fall in love.

How many times is normal?

One for ever? There you are standing in front of me, the embodiment of my future. You are mine, I am yours.

Or should we love many? Taste the fruit, it is there to be eaten, after all. Hey Adam, do you want an apple?

An Australia Day tribute to some of our migrants, who came to this country without being able to speak English, in many cases, who made this country great... Mr Howard

Gotta Love a Wedding.

I went over to Tim and Nicholas', Mary was there. I thought they were pissed off with me, can't remember why? I think fancing the cousin, Craig, made me feel guilty of something. Not sure what? Just generally guilty for my thoughts, I guess. I want to make it with a straight man? Who has a wife and kids? But, Nicholas hugged me warmly and said he'd missed me. Tim laughed about them going away also, but Mary was house sitting for them, so she could feed Missy for me. No problem. Pop over.

I think Tom has made me feel a bit paraniod about friendship. But Tim said he and Nicholas were looking for some where cheaper to live. Nicholas said he'd decided he wanted to move back to my place. We all had fun together. Then they were both smiling at me and offering me wine.

I'm off to Bolago for a wedding; more than 200 guests. Our biggest wedding. Although we've done quite a few at 180, without a hickup.

You know, you just gotta love straight boys, they just don't engage. It's just not in their repertoire. You can say something camp like, Did you here about the new Dream girls movie.

No mate.

They've been brought up that we're all normal, so they treat us as such. Some of them get real cute about it, you know, kind of flattered. But some just don't seem to notice.

We have a young bloke who works for us at the functions. He's cute, seventeen. The funny thing is that he doesn't get my attention nearly as much as his cute thirty-five year old dad, who is handsome with a cheeky smile.

Twice he's been around at the end of functions and I've wondered who he was? At the same time noticing his good looks. Gushing professionally more than I might in normal circumstances.

I'm fine mate, he'd say. A big, open smile. Just here for Jason.

Oops, I'd think, that's his dad again. We've met before. Doh!

I'd be ordering the staff around and they'd be listening and taking notice, the only place that happens, now, let me tell you. I sometimes forget that I have that power, until they are heading away saying, yes sir. I kind of like it.

Can I help you?

Is Jason ready? he'd say. He said to drop by around midnight. Big (gorgeous) smile. Am I too early?

No, not at all.

Jason's dad again... stop smiling, you idiot.

I'll wait in the car, he'd say. If you can tell him I'm here. Sweet smile. Genuinely not wanting to get in the way.

I must commit him to memory, I think. Jason your dad is here.

Anyway, gotta keep moving. Bank, cheque for the car, the 11am train.

big boy 3

Call Boy

I took a train over to Manny's. The boy called me up and said how about it... in his sexiest, huskiest voice. I'd settled on the couch with Josh. We'd smoked a couple of pipes. I wasn't sure if I was going, or not. I sat back on the couch and thought about catching PT. I'd always expect him to come by PT because he hasn't got a car, but I hadn't done it once in the time I've not had a car.

But then Josh convinced me when he said, Aren't you going over to your boyfriend's place, with a kind of a snarl. He spat the words out in frustration, as the guy he's been (trying to) seeing had cancelled, yet again and Josh was, shall we say, really up for it. It looked to him like I was just taking my guy for granted.

Now I wouldn't exactly say that it was spite that got me off my arse, but it wouldn't be far wrong.

Yeah I am, I said, as I got to my feet.

You are? said Josh.

I'd never caught a train over to Manny's place before and since I get the car on Saturday - yay - I kind of thought I should, at least once. You know, so it looks good... better. Besides, if I stayed home it would only be Josh moaning about Paul the Slav.

Yes, I said... because I, um, er, can. Big smile. Ha, ha. See you. Another big smile.

The trains were late at Parliament and everybody looked cross and frustrated; tired, sweaty faces staring at the television screen - well, at least they are used to that - in vain. People were on their mobile phones telling loved ones how late they were going to be, or just whining down the phone at them. Some one to talk to. never be alone. 5 minutes, 10 minutes, who cares, I thought. May be it is a conspiracy between the train companies and the phone companies to bolster profit.

How cute are the train stations on the Broadmeadows line; Kennsington, New Market, Ascot Vale. Just adorable, picture book style.

Manny was gabbering on about the beautiful Stuart when I got there. Stuart had given Manny all his old videos, as he's replaced them all on DVD. There were boxes of them.

How does he afford to, well, live? I asked.

He'd kill me for telling you, said Manny. But...

So, the beautiful Stuart is a male prostitute. I should have thought of that (not sure why, actually?); nice car, nice apartment, no visible means of support.

He paid me cash for my Mk2? Was that a give away?

Hot arse. Gymed body. Alleged, big, thick cock. Handsome face.

Manny said it would cost $400 to watch him and Stuart make out. I laughed.

Blue eyes. Cropped hair. What else is a boy to do with all of those natural advantages?

Stuart is studying nursing at uni, I guess the two could be compatible occupations - both looking after the well-being of others.

I thought Stuart was like Manny and lived on welfare, study grants, hand outs. Manny is Greek, so of course he lives on a pension, but Stuart has money and nice things, and isn't perpetually broke, which tends to point to either hooker or drug dealer. Apparently, the former, a high class call boy, at 30. I'm sure his mother is proud. He used to work at the casino, it's where he first started getting offers. He is a very good looking, sexy boy, I'm not surprised. He just oozes sexiness, naturally. Before that he was a chauffeur for a prostitute. I've never made the connection, before. I just thought he went to uni.

Manny reasoned that he'd only have to do two clients per week, which would only be two hours in the whole week...

What else am I going to use my gym-toned body for? said Manny. Four hundred dollars and I've doubled my pension.

Of course, Man.

Stuart says he could set me up with two clients.

Yes, Man.

I slid my hands up his T-shirt and twisted his nipples. His eyes glazed over. He kissed me passionately. 

Kid Peugeot

It will be like dating the hot little brother, all of a sudden. You know, going for the younger sibling. The second youngest brother, in the family. He’s white and he has a sunroof, and from front-on, he looks the same. He has exactly the same sized donk, literally – like brothers do – but with a body half the size. He’s pretty with a cute arse. I felt like I wanted to brush the fringe out of his eyes, when I test drove him today. He purred, as I manhandled him.

This one has only two doors and is a hot hatchback, with the same 16 valve 2 litre engine, my sports sedan had in it. I’m sure he will be lots of fun.

Kid Peugeot, is what He-who-shall-remain-nameless, said of him. He’s like the cheeky kid brother.

I don’t know when I get him, mechanical checks withstanding. Cross your fingers.

I’m back on the road. Finally. I kind of liked life without him, though. I don’t need the angst, in fact, I prefer the simpler life with no wheels. It is more peaceful. It is calmer, travels at a much more even pace; trains, trams, bikes and feet. Life’s more relaxed, without having to venture out on to the road with all those other idiots.

But there’s nothing that turns me on more than his sweet exhaust pipe and sexy rear and that grunt when he really gets going. He goes off. Whoosh! Woof! Nobody gets me as hard, as he does; that push in the back, that display of raw power.

I called Manny and left a dirty message on his answering machine.

“Boy are you going to get it more often.” 

What Day Is It?

Day seven. That's 210 cigarettes I haven't smoked - and $100 worth of pot. Who am I kidding, $150 worth.

The terrible depression of day 4 and 5 has stopped. That was hard to deal with, even if I have dealt with before, when I have given up smoking, previously. But, the intensity was much stronger this time, I’m sure. Or, it might just have been that I had Josh around to reflect my mood, rather than simply hiding away in my room unreflected, on my own. Whichever? I seem to be over it now. Yah!

Exercise has helped.

I rode over to Lottie's on Saturday and got another flat tyre, the back tyre, would you believe. I got a flat tyre on the front last weekend when I rode over to her place. Fuck, I was annoyed. I could barely hide it from her. She's been calling me ever since to see if I'm okay.

I so wanted to get into an exercise routine to coincide with quitting. I wanted to ride my bike every - second, to be realistic - day. But how can I when the universe is against me, so?

Lottie and I ate lunch together and then I chopped down some branches that were coming over into her place from the neighbours. She has such a thing about over-hanging branches now a days. I think she thinks they are going to slither threw her window, like snakes and get her in the night, if she doesn't keep on top of them.

It had rained a lot and my clothes were still damp when I caught the tram to come home. The aircon on the tram was freezing, so I got off at Barkers Road and just started walking. Fuck it, I need the exercise, I thought. When the rain started again, I thought, Great, you picked the only road around, to walk down, which has no public transport. So, I walked in the rain from Burke Road to the Kew tram terminus, on Church Street. It was fantastic, the day was warm, humid and it washed away all of my worries. A tram took me the short distance from the terminus to Victoria Gardens, where the driver declared that the tram was broken and that if we all got off and waited he’d go back to the terminus and get a replacement. So, I ended up walking home from Ikea. The beautiful Stuart drove past me in my old Mk2, but he didn't see me, thank goodness... the state I was in, it was preferable. I was soaked through by the time I got home, but it felt glorious. Freeing. Liberating. I think I exercised all my smoking demons… on that walk in the rain. So yesterday, I thought fuck it! Who needs a damn bike? I pulled on my running shoes and went jogging for an hour - which turned out to be forty minutes, but hey, who's counting. I can build up to it.

I met up with my mate G, I'll call him Big Boy, just by chance, who was jogging around East Melbourne, heading to the Yarra. He's big and solid and hairy and flirty with a great smile. He was just wearing green running shorts and nothing else; hairy chest, hairy stomach, hairy legs, in true Greek boy style. (What is it with me and Greek boys?)

"Hey Christian, you still want to look down my pants?" He pulled the front of his shorts out and flashed his killer smile.

"Just run, you dumb fuck," I said. "And stop making promises you are not going to keep."

"If you can catch me... you can... you can," running backwards, big smile. "You can suck it," he said. And then he flipped around and his big, thick, hairy, thighs took him sprinting away from me.

I ran hard, but had no chance of catching him.

big boy 2

Washington Post Neologisms

Once again, The Washington Post has published the winning submissions to its yearly neologism contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words. The winners are as follows:

1. Coffee (n.), the person upon whom one coughs.
2. Flabbergasted (adj.), appalled over how much weight you have gained.
3. Abdicate (v.), to give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.
4. Esplanade (v.), to attempt an explanation while drunk.
5. Willy-nilly (adj.), impotent.
6. Negligent (adj.), describes a condition in which you absentmindedly answer the door in your nightgown.
7. Lymph (v.), to walk with a lisp.
8. Gargoyle (n.), olive-flavored mouthwash.
9. Flatulence (n.) emergency vehicle that picks you up after you are run over by a steamroller.
10. Balderdash (n.), a rapidly receding hairline.
11. Testicle (n.), a humorous question on an exam.
12. Rectitude (n.), the formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.
13. Pokemon (n), a Rastafarian proctologist.
14. Oyster (n.), a person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.
15. Frisbeetarianism (n.), (back by popular demand): The belief that, when you die, your soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.
16. Circumvent (n.), an opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men.
    
    

The Washington Post's Style Invitational also asked readers to take any word from the Dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are this year's winners:

1. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the
   near future.
   
2. Foreploy (v): Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
   
3. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.
   
4. Giraffiti (n): Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
   
5. Sarchasm (n): The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
   
6. Inoculatte (v): To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
   
7. Hipatitis (n): Terminal coolness.
   
8. Osteopornosis (n): A degenerate disease.
   (This one got extra credit.)
   
9. Karmageddon (n): It's like, when everybody Is sending off all these really bad vibes,
   Right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.
   
10. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of Getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
    
11. Glibido (v): All talk and no action.
    
12. Dopeler effect (n): The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly
13. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.
    
14. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
    
15. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a grub in the fruit you're eating.
    
16. Ignoranus (n): A person who's both stupid and an asshole

Big Boy

Sad Times Indeed

It's a sad indictment on Australia that Sheik Hilaly can't exercise his freedom of speech in expressing his views, without some hysterical (racist) reaction from the punters about deporting him from this country. To all those morons I say, he is an Australian citizen.

Please note, freedom of speech is not dependant on people liking the message. (I know people have a great problem with this proposition now a days)

I blame this on Howard, who has been using racism (the war on terror. citizenship requirements that are quasi white Australia policies) as a political tool - not to mention making a practise of deporting Australian citizens.

Just as an aside, the war on terror was created by the Christians when they invaded Iraq, don't forget that. But I digress.

Nothing the sheik has said is that new, or interesting, for that matter. Nothing he has said hasn't already been said by many, many other people through the ages.
Lets look at the two messages that come to mind.

1. Immodest women will be treated as nothing more than raw meat.
2. Immigrants have more of a right to this country than those who came here as criminals

• These are hardly new messages.
• For the first one, go back to any Christian pulpit predating the last twenty to thirty years any Sunday to hear that repeated ad infiniteum. Not to mention, it is what many parents say to their sixteen year old daughters, as they head out for the night on Saturday night.
• And the second, with the current hysteria surrounding tough-on-crime sentencing, I'd have thought it would have resonated with most of the punters. You know, criminals have no rights.

I don't agree with either proposition, but I will defend his right to express his opinion. And they are hardly revolutionary thoughts.

At least if he says it out in the open, (And he always has) those opinions can be challenged with differing points of view. Discussion and debate are created and, after all, that is a democracy. If we go with the stupid, lynch-mob mentality, he is still going to express those same views, but they will be expressed in private, with very little opportunity to express countering views. (As is the case with any censorship)
The people who are wailing for his head, are just as sad as any view he has expressed, may be sadder. (Step up all ye sad rat-faced receptionists and give the people your message. Oh you have no message to give? You just want to criticise from what you've read in the sensationalist press?)

All the while, the members of our in-every-way-but-in-name Christian Federal government are addressing fundamentalist Christian movements, Catch the Fires Fellowship (Don't I just wish that they would all burn) and Assemblies of God - imported directly from the great US of A to spread hate about anyone who thinks differently to them.

This government has over turned euthanasia laws, has quashed same sex unions in the ACT, has attempted to stop the abortion pill, has stopped abortion being made legal and has tried everything to stymie stemcell research. The only common thread to all of these decisions, Christian beliefs. We now even have Christian counsellors being deposited in Australian Schools.

Personally, I think Howard is a far more disgusting individual than Sheik Hilaly will ever be. At least the sheik is honest with what he thinks as he expresses it publicly, while Howard is underhand in spreading his Christian message, all the while demonising Muslims, fanning the smouldering hate in this country for his own political needs.
Wake up Australia!

Go Tom

You know, I'm having trouble accepting a word of Tom's response, as yet again, it is so totally self-focused that it doesn't even make a passing attempt to take into account the differences in what he & I might have been doing.

For the passed twelve months, at least, Tom has sat around and done nothing, absolutely nothing, other than scream Me, Me, Me, to anyone who cared to listen, while I have, on quite a number of weeks, worked 7 days a week, pretty much. Now I don't expect anything for having worked so hard, that was my thing and my choice and it should mean nothing to anyone else, however, at the same time, I don't expect to be criticised for the times I haven't had time to put into other people.

Tom spends his whole life focused on Tom, financed by his parents, usually pepped up or slowed down as his desires take him and woe betide any one who...

... oh, who cares? Why am I even spending energy on this? Get fucked Tom! You are sooo deluded. It makes me furious!

This is the email I wrote in response, which I'm not going to send. I'm going to just sit back and breath, instead and just let time do it's thing... whatever that might be.

I think your hysterical reaction over the last couple of weeks (months) is bullshit. I think you’re most recent email is bullshit, too.

As far as your pathetic whine about your birthday is concerned, I have already addressed that but, just for the record, I had a dinner on that night that had been organised for six months, quite possibly a year, which is a standing Xmas date with a group of friends I have known since we were teenagers together. I’m sorry I didn't drop that for something that had been organised a few weeks previously on a whim. Apart from the late hour, I couldn't have come afterwards as I was with Mark and Luke, who you did not invited to your birthday. Now, I know it is your style to dump people for a better offer, but it isn't mine. And quite frankly with the preceding few months in mind, I’d rather have been with Mark and Luke, anyway.

As far as the dinner at Rachel’s is concerned, Josh invited you to that, not me. I had no intention of inviting you.

And as for Throb, you do make me laugh. I had invited you earlier in the day, in exactly the same way that I/we/you have ever organised to go to Throb, on nearly every other occasion. That complain is the most laughable, dare I say self-obsessed.

It must be very easy to sit in judgment when you sit on your arse doing nothing. It must make it easy to criticise others and be blind to how much more they do than you. I’m very sorry that your world doesn't extend beyond the end of your nose.

And no, I have barely seen Guido and on the few occasions that I have, let me assure you, your name hasn't even been mentioned. It has been your other friends who have been aching to, lining up to, enthusiastically wanting to, tell me about your spiralling drug use.

I don’t think…maybe, you (don’t) lie about your drug use, but I think you can be very deluded about it. No, I'm sorry, I think you lie about it.

I’m sorry I have disappointed you so much. Consequently, at the close of this email I will not be responding any further, either by phone or email or any other means. Have a nice life, buddy. Thanks for the good times, we had some, hey.

But I didn't send. (That last paragraph is pretty final and pretty brutal, even for me) I decided to stop being childish and to just give it some distance. Sometimes it is as cathartic just writing a response, delivering it isn't always essential.

But it is how it has made me feel. I could send it, finishing at, "...I will not be responding any further." (end) Silence, for a while.

If it's true and he has finally slipped into health mode, he'll be apologising with in weeks, in a week. We'll see.

With No Hard Feelings

Hey Christian

Thank you so much for telling me how you feel. I hear you and fully understand where you are coming from.

If that’s how it is for you, then it IS good that we have some breathing space. No one likes to be corrected needled and picked on. If it’s a relief for you to not be around me, then it’s good we aren’t around each other at the mo’.

I miss you, but then, I’ve missed you for a long, long time.

I was sad that you hadn’t called Christian.

The “gee you’re very quiet over there” email last week – after I told you exactly what my issue was just the week before – Throb Friday – wasn’t worth answering. I was willing to discuss what was in my mind and in my heart, but not pretend that none of what I said or felt even existed.

But now I think maybe this is a better way to express it for me too.

There are two things going on here for me.

The first issue IS the same one since I came back from the States Christian.

You give me zero energy. That hurts. You show no interest, you ask no questions, you make no phone calls.

For me there were three last straws – not coming to my birthday, getting Josh to call me at 7pm to have dinner with Rachel (you have never asked me to dinner ever anywhere with anyone, another ouch at the time), and then thinking of me at the very last moment re Throb.

I’m not blaming you here Christian – just telling you.

Now, this is the second thing – and I have only come to this in the last week or so, so forgive me if it is muddled.

I’ve tried way too hard to make you be something that I realise now that you don’t want to be.

I remember the Christian that used to laugh and ask questions and tell amusing stories, and for so long I have tried to bring him out again in you, the zest for life that YOU taught ME. I have missed him, and mourned him, and felt “responsible”, that I should be able to bring that shining man back, for all to enjoy and admire. And I’ve felt like it was my fault, my failing, that I haven’t.

So, I’ve tried to keep you engaged, forgiven your lack of communication or interest, pretended they weren’t happening, written it off to you taking too many drugs (when you take them) etc again and again until finally I too have had ENOUGH.

Now I realise how much energy I have invested in trying to get you to be someone who you are not. Someone who you were maybe, but not who you are now. I haven’t accepted you, as you are.

So, that’s where my criticism etc has stemmed from I think. I’m really sorry that I’ve put us both through that.

We both deserve better than that.

So, a psycho bitch I may well be, but then again Christian, when wasn’t I?

You know, I hear the anger in your words, and I can understand that. I’m sorry my behaviour has made you angry. It’s a good thing that I’ve stopped “trying” I think.

You can write all of this off to my “excessive drug use” too, but Christian, I have only been receiving praise from my friends for my demonstration of discipline and self-control. I haven’t touched a drug since Jan 1, not even pot (yes from lack of availability), and I’ve gained 3 kilos in the last fortnight. I’m working out 4 times a week, and feeling mostly very healthy. So, I don’t know who this EVERYONE is that is telling you otherwise, but I suspect it’s Guido who is not exactly my biggest fan. (I think I am going to fix his little red wagon if he doesn’t stop talking about me, but that is another story). Anyway, you know I don’t lie about my drug use.

So, that’s how it is for me.

Thanks for giving me the opportunity to explain all of that, and getting clear about it myself.

No hard feelings here, just a bit of sadness. And I really am sorry that I haven’t been accepting of you as you are.

All the best.

Tom

Tom & I

Tom and I are now officially estranged - he picked up the towel he kept here and left his front door key behind on his way out, while I was at work yesterday.

We still haven't spoken. I didn't race in and make it right for him. I didn't call and put my case. I didn't apologise. I didn't play his game, as he stated that I must - stated to everyone but me, I might add. What he told me was that he needed more from me, on maybe three, or so, occasions. What he told everyone else was that he has told me the deal, clearly and in detail.

What I've actually got from him was, a message on my answering machine; some inarticulate words in person; and a request for more from me over the phone a few weeks back, just before Throb, after which he hung up in my ear before I could reply.

I'm surprised it has got to this. I would have thought we'd have kissed and made up long before this, but...

Tom has seemingly been pissed off with me ever since he returned from America and Canada, some months ago. He has just seemed pissed off with me. He has done nothing but criticise me for what I've done and what I've said. He has just seemed continually annoyed with me... so I withdrew.

And what I have found, is that I have enjoyed the separation. I have enjoy having friendly people around me. I have enjoyed the relative peace. I have enjoyed not having Little Mr Angry around.

I've actually preferred this to what preceded it.

I decided that as (former) best friends (how much like high school is this going to get?) I should at least say something. Silence if fine, for a time, but then it just gets weird. I hadn't sent any of the previous emails I had written, so I sat down this morning and just wrote without thinking too much about it.

Personally my luv, I think you are losing your mind. I have only withdrawn because you have been so pissed off and angry with me, I’d say since you returned from America/Canada that I can’t really take it any more. I can’t put up with the constant corrections of what I say, I can’t put up with the picking, I can’t put up with the constant needling that I have got from you. I think it is sad that it has got to this, but, to tell you the truth, I have found this recent separation something of a relief.

It’s nice to be around people who actually seem to like me.

I suspect what everyone is saying and I mean everyone, is true, you are doing far too many drugs. Well, let’s put it another way, shall we, what are you doing that doesn’t involve drugs?

But, you’re a big boy now.

I’m sure I’ll see you around, at some stage.

hit send. Gone.

Time for breakfast.

I've got the day off. I'm off to Ringwood to look at a car.

 

 

Day 4 - Back to Crap

I feel like shit; tired, nauseous, flat, sweaty, vague, dizzy, weak and, maybe, just a little depressed.

The first week is always a killer.

Withdrawing? No fucking shit, Sherlock!

I'm going to bed.

That's 120 cigarettes I haven't smoked, though... so it's not all bad. And I haven't felt like having one, not really. My mind has played tricks on me, sure, but it has only been fleeting.

My ex-girlfriends and ex-boyfriends (I have two of each) have all called and given me encouragement. Got to love 'em for that.

 

Uncle Will and the Satchel

My work satchel broke, the bottom finally wore through, I've had it for a number of years. It has lasted longer than the friendship of the person who accompanied me to the CBD that day I bought it. My house keys were hanging out, which is a pretty good reason to invest in a new one.

I have quite a satchel thing, I've had quite a number through my working life. The one that has just finished it's days was the first one I had that wasn't leather and it was the one that lasted the longest.

So, I decided to have a look through the ones I had at home, rather than just buying a new one. I much prefer vintage over new, I've always been like that. There was one sitting amongst the broken ones - I must get them repaired sometime, or throw them out - that belonged to my great uncle. It was fine, nothing broken, ready to go. Considering the great uncle in question died in 1960, long before I was born, the satchel is in remarkably good shape.

So, on the tram this morning, I wondered how old it was? Presumably, since my uncle died in the January 1960, the satchel hadn't seen the light of day since 1959. That's nearly fifty years that it hasn't been used. So, how old must it be?

I like it. I like the idea that my uncles hands touched the same place that mine do - it is our only connection as, as I said, he and I never met.

His initials are embossed in gold in the top right hand corner. He is a four namer, William Patrick Joseph Meredith, just like me, Christian Aloysius Ignatius Fletcher. He would have known the perils of four names and the difficulty of fitting them onto official forms or the superiority of the sound when they are read out.

I ran my fingers over the gold lettering, just how he would have, our second connection. I held the handles, just as he would have.

What would have been inside that satchel the last time it was used? Certainly not a mobile phone, or keyless entry car thingies - despite me not having the car they once activated. He had a silver St Christopher medal key ring that fitted his 1959 Vauxhall Cresta, which he had taken delivery of just a few short months before he succumbed to his weak heart. (My great aunt continued to drive the car and use the key ring for some thirty years after that)

I've only seen photos of Billy, as my great aunt, Ada, used to call him. "My dear Billy," was the way she would always start a sentence about him. I remember serious photos of him always, seemingly, in an overcoat and hat. From all accounts, he was a kind man, quiet and much loved by all those who knew him.

I like the idea of carrying a small part of him around with me.

 

Calm to Furious in 2 Seconds Flat

I thought I was doing okay, holding it together, being calm and kind to myself and those around me. I went to Nashi this morning to get muesli – I hadn't been to the supermarket for weeks, but Josh and I went tonight, we even remembered those damn, green bags – for my breakfast, only to discover they didn't have any.

“You haven’t got any muesli,” I exclaimed furiously! (Seeing red. Pulse rate accelerating exponentially. Head spinning.) “Why haven't you got any muesli?” I demanded to know.

“No we haven't,” said the nice boy behind the counter, calmly and quietly. ”Would you like me to make you up some?” Big smile. "It would be no trouble."

“Um… oh, yes.” Step back. Calm down. “That would be… great.” Breath, Christian, just breath. “Thanks.” Pulse rate slowing. Head stopping spinning. Smile.